


Samifer Tumblr Prompt Fills

by paperfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Ratings are varied, So be warned, but mostly land on the fluff to angsty rough sex spectrum.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperfeathers/pseuds/paperfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the lid. Samifer prompt fills from my tumblr account. Ratings vary, along with themes. Prompts are currently open, just send them in a comment here if you don't want to entrust them to Tumblr's askbox.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dance

**Author's Note:**

> samaelmorningstar asked:
> 
> dance (I'm sure you can guess the pairing :P)

 

It wasn’t flying so much as dancing, he told Sam. They couldn’t just spread their wings and dive into the abyss. (Gabriel had tried that, nearly got sideswept by a comet for all his trouble). There were specific steps and coordinated wingbeats, so as not to sweep planetary dust away. Gravity was their tightrope, bending around the planets and their own luminous shapes. The result was the infinite spiral of creation, movements flowing into one another until they were all one being, singing praises to their Father. Around them the universe spun its own slow dance. “It was beautiful,” said Lucifer. Beyond every possible use of the word. “It was home _,”_ went unspoken.

There’s longing in Lucifer’s voice, and the undercurrent of bleak homesickness coloring every ancient memory he shared with his lover. There’s grief in his eyes, too, and this is what makes Sam hold him close enough to feel the grace thrumming beneath his skin. Lucifer leans in, quietly accepting the comfort.

 “I would’ve wanted to see that. To feel that.” Sam half-murmurs into Lucifer’s hair. At that, the archangel lifts up his head. Slips one arm around his waist and the other takes his hand, squeezing gently. The grief is gone from Lucifer’s eyes, and on his face is only softness.

“I can show you.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> samaelmorningstar asked:prompt: rose~

Sam wakes up in a garden.

It’s shabby and badly kept, half-choked by weeds. Gnarled trees grasp for the sky, and many of the other plants are dead or dying. But the roses still bloom, crimson and thorny and sweet. Sam reaches up, ripping open the pad of his thumb with a thorn. A sharp pain, and then blood wells up, the same color as the flowers. Sam watches it run down his thumb, collecting in his palm.

He feels the shift in the atmosphere the moment  _he_ arrives, but Sam doesn’t even turn to acknowledge him. Only drops his hand, blood dripping down his fingers to the ground. Lucifer watches them fall, staining the earth where they land.

His vessel isn’t the one he was wearing the first time Sam met him. He’s burnt through a fair amount of them waiting for Sam. The current one is in the beginning stages of decomposition, burns spotting his face and neck like open sores. He reeks of ozone and the sulfur tang of demon blood. Sam should be repelled, should be snarling, fighting, painting a banishing sigil with his blood, anything but this awful frozen calm. But he’s beyond feeling anything. The last shreds of him died along with his garrison in the streets of Detroit.

 “it’s funny looking back, after all this.” The sound of his own voice surprises him a little. Hoarse from smoke and drink, barking out orders to his men and keeping his screams locked in. A stranger’s voice. “On our best nights my people were called heroes. Saviors of the human race, fighters in the war against hell. I never believed it, but they did. Until they saw how many civilians were being crucified in our wake, and when they learned who let you out in the first place. No one called us heroes after that. No one called us anything. Everyone was dying, or turned to Croats, and we couldn’t do anything.  _I_ couldn’t do anything. Not a damn thing.”

“Sam…” Sam flinches at the tenderness curled on Lucifer’s tongue, skin crawling when he hears that one syllable, that voice he struggled against and yearned for for five long years. There’s a cold hand on his shoulder, and in spite of himself he leans into the touch. “It’s not your burden to save the world.”

Sam barks out a harsh, furious laugh. “Yeah, I know. I’m your vessel after all. If I’d taken up your offer five years ago then maybe Michael could’ve put a sword through the both of us, ended my misery. But we didn’t. I didn’t, neither did Dean –“ his brother’s name has pain lancing through his chest, even now .“Now, the angels are gone, and everyone’s dead.” Sam laughs again, bitter and tired and old. “Team Free Will, my ass.”

Lucifer doesn’t speak, but his hands turn him around gently until they’re face to face, chests brushing. On Lucifer’s face is that eternal, patient look. His hand on Sam’s face is cold, but gentle. It’s better than anything Sam’s felt in years, and he has to close his eyes.

“All that can end, Sam.” Lucifer’s voice is as gentle as ever. Both hands cup Sam’s face, and Sam opens his eyes. “It’s time you stopped fighting. It’s time you put down your burden The world isn’t yours to save, not anymore.”

Sam should be fighting, should be resisting, should be hacking his way through the city infested with Croats and into Champ Chitaqua. Should be making his way to Dean, who he would at least see one last time though they may never speak to each other, even while in the same room. But he’s so tired, his limbs are leaden, and as Lucifer pulls him into an embrace he feels all the fight and energy flood out of him. Exhaustion seeps into his bones , his soul, and he sags against Lucifer. The archangel runs fingers through his hair, strokes a trail down his spine. The simple comfort of it all has Sam wanting to weep. He leans in, feeling safety and protection wrap itself around him like the tendrils of Lucifer’s grace.

He hears Lucifer speaking through a fog, and it feels like something’s snapped free inside him. Something monstrous and terrible and relieved.

“You’re home, Sam.” Over and over again, as those strong arms bear his weight. “You’re home.”


	3. Rough Sex, NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> samifer, nsfw, more rough sex because ohmygod that fic was perfect

   

Warnings: VERY rough sex, Sam's issues with control, Lucifer being a little shit, Angst. By the Imapala-load. Again. 

 

     It isn’t beautiful. There’s nothing soft or tender about them when they’re together like this. Lucifer runs his hands down Sam’s sides as a musician would caress a delicate instrument, before sinking his nails in mortal flesh and carving new scars in Sam’s soul. Sam clutches the back of Lucifer’s neck, shoving the archangel’s face into the pillow and holding him down as he ruts into him from behind with rough, painful thrusts. But it’s never enough to muffle the sounds coming from Lucifer’s throat. Greedy gasps and mocking hisses. The archangel submits to him, bows down and allows himself to be taken, but never in silence. _What would big brother think of you now, Sammy? What about Jess? Do you remember what Jess felt like, Sammy? Did fucking her ever feel as good –_ Sam would wrench his head up with a growl, twist it around to near breaking just so he can silence him with a biting, furious kiss. Lucifer only laughs as Sam fucks him deeper and harder, laughs and gasps and groans as Sam all but tears him apart, blood smeared between his thighs and on Sam’s cock. Often he lets Sam have this illusion of victory, him spread out beneath and shaking through his own orgasm as Sam spills into him. Heat and shame and furious lust rolling off the both of them in waves, and Lucifer loves it, loves him. As the illusion of control breaks during the aftermath it’s his turn to flip Sam on the bed, relishing the spark of terror on the human’s face as he pins his wrists down, holding him immobile. Sam’s soaked in sweat, chest heaving, eyes almost feral in his anger and hazy with longing. The sight of it is more than enough to make Lucifer hard again as he brings his head down for one bruising kiss after another.

       Lucifer’s all cruel gentleness where he touches Sam. His hands never tighten or leave bruises, only leaving Sam’s wrists to open him up with his fingers. His lips skim lightly over the planes of Sam’s chest, up and down the column of his neck, tongue tracing the outline of his tattoo. Every kiss and caress claiming every inch of the boy beneath him. Human muscles shift and tense, scarred and powerful yet so, so fragile compared to Lucifer’s angelic might. The vulnerability of Sam’s form laid bare all for him, only for him. Sam arches and shudders, teeth stubbornly clenched and trapping whatever sounds he makes in his throat. Eyes screwed shut and every bit of him rigid with tension, but all his control shatters the moment Lucifer enters him. His eyes fly open, and he moans. Lucifer fucks him as gently as he touches him, deep and painfully slow. Sam hates it, hates him, knowing just how much power Lucifer holds over him. And for all hate is the purer emotion he can no longer tell the difference between it and Lucifer’s monstrous love. As they both come undone for the second time, through the white-hot bolt of his own pleasure and Lucifer’s guttural, almost human groan, he catches the tail end of a whisper he can no longer tell belongs to who –

_This is what it means to be yours._

         He cries out. Harsh and almost keening, and they collapse against one another, Lucifer’s come spilling into Sam almost searing in its heat. They lie together, sweat and seed drying on their skin, the sheets stained with blood. Tangled so close together they could no longer tell where one began and the other ended. Lucifer’s mouthing Sam’s name against his skin, a hushed, trembling litany. Sam doesn’t respond, doesn’t slip an arm around Lucifer. But neither does he pull away.

What they have is ugly and vicious and cruel, a mockery of whatever love can be dredged up from the ruin of their beings. But it’s theirs and theirs alone.

 


	4. High School AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> msbrokenbrightside asks: samifer hs au?

”What did you want to talk about?” If Sam could only bring himself to look at Lucifer in the face, the concern in the older boy’s eyes would’ve soothed him somewhat. Be that as it may he’s a little too busy staring at his shoes. Trying (and failing) to force words out of his throat.

“Sam? Is anything the matter?”

And that’s it, that’s the matter really. He’s only about to confess to his best friend of over ten years about what he’s been feeling for a good five years now. Ten years to the day that he met the boy who would be the bane of his existence and the (secret) love of his life, and he still feels as tongue-tied as he was that first week with Dean in a new town. Ten years to the day that the school bullies decided to gang up on the skinny Winchester kid, until the quiet blond loner called them off with a single word. Sam’s nose had been bleeding and his knuckles scraped from where he’d punched Azazel and Alastair out cold. Concrete digging into his knees hard enough bruise, but Lucifer’s hands had been cool and strangely soft where they pressed a handkerchief to Sam’s nose and helped him to his feet. 

They’re no longer as soft as they were then, but they’re still just as gentle – is Sam’s first distracted thought before he freezes. Because Lucifer’s hand is cupping his cheek, the other cradling the back of his neck. Lifting his half-bowed head up so that he’s forced to look Lucifer in the eye. There’s something softly amused on Lucifer’s face, but also something molten-warm and intense. Before Sam quite knows what’s going on, Lucifer’s pulled him forward and pressed his mouth against his.

Lucifer’s kiss is soft and warm and strangely innocent, barely five seconds of contact before he pulls away. But Sam’s still left red-faced and weak at the knees, practically clutching at Lucifer’s arms for support, staring up at his best friend with utter disbelief. Lucifer just rests his forehead against Sam’s and smiles at him before answering his mute question.

“I know. I’ve always known. And I love you too.”


	5. Human Lucifer, whump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zombikki asks:  
>  human!luc hurt comfort samifer, mmm, yes. maybe the first time he gets sick.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: A character going through a mental breakdown, guilt and despair, abandonment. Whump!Lucifer to the max.

It’s cold here. And dark. So dark. By all rights, the prison Abaddon had flung him into after ripping out his grace shouldn’t this oppressive, this profoundly empty. But through the blindness of human eyes this little cell seems even more threatening than the Cage’s infinite blackness. Shadows dance on the edges of his vision, morphing and twisting into faces: Michael’s sneer, Gabriel’s heartbreak, the disappointment on his father’s face, Sam’s eyes -.  

He can hear their voices, whispering, accusing, taunting.  _Monster,_ Michael sneers.  _Brother, brother why?_ Gabriel begs, pleads, cries. Father says nothing. As silent as he had been the day Michael locked Lucifer away. And Sam – when Sam opens his mouth, that’s when Lucifer covers his ears with his hands.

 

His pride won’t let him cry. Won’t let him beg, won’t let him scream. But the voices grow louder and louder and louder. He’s shaking, curled up on his side. Hands on his ears but no matter what he does he can’t block them out. Eyes squeezed shut, but in that profound dark the faces only grow clearer and brighter. And now it’s no longer just voices. He can feel the bite of Michael’s sword and Gabriel’s blood warm and slippery through his fingers. The sensation of falling, howling winds tearing at his being as he hurtles downwards . But the crash is nothing compared to the heartbreak and betrayal. And then Sam. Beautiful, brilliant Sam. The one thing Lucifer allowed himself to hope for, the one thing he allowed himself to want. The wounded softness of his soul wrapped around Lucifer’s grace, the star-bright heart of him sheltered within Lucifer’s core. Sam, who understood him, who feared him almost as much as he feared himself, who loved him despite everything, who left him all the same –

Burning pain rises in Lucifer’s chest, up his throat, bursting out of him in a broken sob. There’s no stopping it after that. He falls apart, burying his face in his knees. The sound of his sobs reverberating throughout the cold room, their broken shattered taunt almost deafening him as he fights with himself to calm down, to shut up, to  _stop –_

And then suddenly, there are footsteps echoing down the corridor and the sound of a key turning in a lock. The heavy door to his cell opening, light flooding inside and illuminating the stunned figure filling the doorway . But Lucifer sees none of that. Clutching tight at his hair, shaking and praying for everything to just  _end. Please, I’m so tired. Just what more do you want from me –_

And then there are hands lifting his head up from the cold concrete floor. Warm arms pulling him against a broad chest, gentle fingers wiping at the moisture streaking his face. A pair of painfully familiar hazel eyes, lined with a deep exhaustion, meeting his in grateful relief. And this doesn’t make sense, any of it. Sam left him years ago, taking what was left of his heart and hope with him. Lucifer can’t help it. He laughs, harsh and keening, laughs even louder when Sam flinches, expecting him to evaporate, to disappear just like he did so many years ago.

But Sam doesn’t disappear, doesn’t let go. He holds Lucifer even tighter, rubbing circles onto his back and rocking him gently when he shows no signs of calming down. Murmuring something soft and soothing, and somehow through the murk of Lucifer’s panicked breakdown he hears them.

“It’s all right, Lucifer. It’s okay. I’m here now, you’re safe. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I’m never gonna leave you alone like that ever again. Lucifer,  _I’m so sorry.”_  

Lucifer doesn’t believe him, doesn’t want to listen to him. This feels too much like escape, an illusion brought on by the chemicals coursing through the prison of his body. Unable to see his soul, Lucifer has no way of knowing whether this is even truly Sam. But he can’t help himself. So he leans against the figure cradling him in his arms, closing his eyes when his lips brush against his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth.

“Please get me out of here.” He whispers, begs, pleads. Keeping his eyes squeezed shut, expecting Sam to disappear once he opens them again. But Sam holds onto him tightly and doesn’t let go, and the last thing Lucifer hears before exhaustion catches up to him is a single sentence, stubble-rough and tender as Sam murmurs it into his ear.     

“I’m taking you home.”


End file.
